I can vividly remember the feeling I had after the first time I watched the movie The Football Factory. I had a tickle in my balls that I hadn’t experienced since the first time I wore my NWO wrestling shirt to elementary school and won my first fight.

I can vividly remember the feeling I had after the first time I watched the movie The Football Factory. I had a tickle in my balls that I hadn’t experienced since the first time I wore my NWO wrestling shirt to elementary school and won my first fight. Or the first time I finger-fucked a girl on a park bench on a Friday night under the stars. After the movie was over, I immediately wanted to move to the UK from Southern Ontario (Stoney Creek), join a firm (didn’t matter which football club I supported, but preferably one whose firms didn’t lose a lot of flights), do bumps and beat the shit out of people.

Footballing, fighting, and fucking was my plan.

Then I realized I was a pussy and moved to Toronto to attend Theatre School, which I later dropped out of to take a trip to the Dominican Republic.

In DR I partied with a shit load of real hooligans. After spending a week with them, they told me that all the firms were breaking up because of “PANSY FUCKING HOLLYWOOD CUNTS TAKING A SHIT AND HAVING A LAUGH WITH OUR LIFESTYLE.”

Sometimes drunken Hooligans can be the only wise people left in this world:

Thanks,
-ERIC J.

P.S. I auditioned for the video above, but they said I was too pretty.

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